


we'll shoot back holy water like cheap whiskey

by mindyfication



Series: I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Misogyny, Dark Sam Winchester, Dubious Consent, Episode: s06e05 Live Free or Twihard, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Possessive Sam Winchester, Soulless Sam Winchester, Vampire Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 16:31:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10700799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindyfication/pseuds/mindyfication
Summary: Sam has a plan to keep Dean forever. Dean probably won't like it, but Dean loves him and has always been good at adapting.(Or the one where Dean isn't cured of being a vampire and Sam makes sure no one can take his brother away.)





	we'll shoot back holy water like cheap whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Title/inspiration from mcr's second track on ibymbybmyl: Vampires Will Never Hurt You ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RICR7sX9_rs))

Sam’s taken to drinking salted holy water ever since he came back. It stays in a silver flask, every sip equally revolting and reassuring. Whatever is wrong with him- whatever isn’t letting him feel completely like himself- isn’t a demon or shifter or ghost. It’s still _him_ and that matters, though Sam honestly can’t fully remember why. There’s something wrong, something off- but god, the results he’s been getting. He’s never killed so many monsters in such a short time, has never been so damn good at his job. It’s like after Mystery Spot, only better because he doesn’t get sidetracked by hunting down some dick archangel/trickster that enjoyed dropping red herrings. 

Dean doesn’t see it his way, he knows that. But Dean’s about to become useful. There’s a bit of him that wants Dean to stick around, and Sam has been torn between rebelling against it and embracing it. He didn’t care about the Campbells or any of the people he’s had sex with, but something kept him watching Dean for a year, making sure he was safe. That bit of him screamed at the idea of killing Dean, which was odd enough- Dean would die again, statistically speaking, he was far more likely to die than the average person. But he had an idea, one that no part of him disagreed with, and when it came to Dean, such thoughts were rare. 

He’d thought of the compromise when they started hunting the vampire nest. It’d give him a way to keep Dean forever and a line on the Alpha vampire. Dean wouldn’t be happy, but he’d get over it- Dean had always been the flexible brother, was good at adapting to any situation. He was gone now, probably playing house with that girl he swore he’d left. (He was too happy, got laid in patterns, did Dean really think Sam wouldn’t notice?)

“Where’s your soft brother?” Their grandfather grumbles, placing a jar down. “I got the cure half made, we just need-”

Sam shoots him twice through the heart, doesn’t blink at Samuel’s flash of surprise and anger as he falls to the bed. Sam prepares the large duffle without worry, it’s carried larger corpses before. 

“That’s not in the cards old man,” Sam says. There isn’t much in the rest of the motel room, and Sam leaves a short stack of cash on the table. Enough to cover the blanket and sheets that his blood got on, a good thing he moved him before he could bleed on the mattress. Campbell was a stubborn son of a bitch, everyone in their family was, and Sam’s first priority is to salt and burn the body. 

Two hours later, Samuel’s ashes are in a river and Sam’s picked a nicer hotel a town over. If the other Campbells seriously suspect him, it’ll buy him and Dean enough time to leave without issue. And even if he isn’t sleeping, it’s still nice to have non-scratchy sheets and a mattress that actually tempts him to try anyways. 

Sam’s researching the night away, already got a call from Gwen asking after the eldest Campbell. She bought his lie easily that he hadn’t seen him, muttering about how Samuel had disappeared last weekend without telling them. Sam’s fairly certain she didn’t say it to lull him into a false sense of security, Gwen was honest to a fault, was hell to work with.

He still hasn’t found anything substantial on the Alphas, on why they might be coming out of the woodwork now. It’s unfortunate, but then Dean is back and the books around him are forgotten.

Dean’s eyes are red, and he’s rubbing at them. “Turn off the damn light.” 

Sam does slowly, trying to channel the him of his memories. A concerned face and soft voice, slow approach is called for, “Dean, are you alright buddy?” 

“Fang-friggen-tastic,” he snaps. A twisted laugh passes his lips, turns into a wet sob and Sam wraps his arms around him. There’s blood all over him, clearly not his, and Sam forces his heart rate normal. 

“We can fix this. Remember Lenore? She just drank animal blood-”

“Too late,” Dean says, muscles shifting underneath Sam’s hands. It’s the closest Sam’s allowed himself to get to danger, and the fear stays away as always, but adrenaline still builds up. 

“You need to get away from me, shit, I can _hear_ your blood.” 

“I trust you.” 

“You shouldn’t!” Dean exclaims, ripping out of his embrace. He turns to the wall, punching a hole through it. It’s not a new motion for either of them, but Dean’s knuckles are pristine, inhuman. “I almost killed- I drank her fucking blood Sam. Lisa, I- you need to kill me.” 

Dean turns back, falls to his knees before him. “Please, Sammy I need you to kill me.” 

Sam almost relaxes, familiar scenes were easier. He falls to his own knees, pain shooting up each at his speed. He clutches Dean’s face, makes his own eyes water. “Dean you’re my brother, I could never do that to you.”

“Sam,” he growls, teeth grit. “All of my instincts are urging me to rip out your throat. I’m not a person, not your br-” He chokes on the word, hurries on, “I’m a _monster_.” 

“Mine,” Sam murmurs, unplanned, the word slipping out, his thumbs brushing Dean’s cheeks. It’s possession he realizes in that moment, the bit of him that won’t allow anything to happen to Dean. It’s the tight feeling of possession curled around the amulet Dean wears. Sam swallows, rushes on before Dean can talk, “You didn’t kill her though- you were able to stop. That’s good Dean.” 

“ _Good_? I’m a fucking vampire Sam! None of this is good. And what the fuck did you-”

“You can still hunt-”

“Like Gordon? You want me to follow his footsteps?” Dean asks with a bitter laugh. 

Sam’s hands move down to cup Dean’s neck, a crooked smile on his lips. “Maybe without the pathological need to kill me.” 

Dean snorts, but hesitates, considering. “If I kill _one_ innocent person-”

“I won’t let you,” Sam interrupts. 

Dean doesn’t argue at how ridiculous his statement is- his new speed alone ensures that Sam couldn’t stop him. But Dean shrugs off his hands instead, standing up and pulling Sam up with him. 

“Alright. We finish this job and you find us somewhere isolated for a little vampire academy,” Dean says. 

Sam nods, and Dean adds, “Good, no more chick flick moments tonight. Don’t wanna grow a vag like you Samantha.” 

“Jerk,” Sam says, and sure enough it makes the first small smile of the night hit Dean’s lips. 

“Bitch.” 

.

The rest of the hunt is beyond easy, Dean sniffing out the nest. He takes most of the other vamps out before Sam even steps foot inside, killing two stragglers. He finds Dean in the large hallway, head of his sire below his boot and blood speckled all over him. Dry swallowing, Sam distantly hopes that there are too many carcasses around for Dean to pick up on the way his dick just jumped at the sight. (It’s probably too soon for that, doesn’t need Dean running away.)

And then it’s a long drive to the middle of no man’s land, Canada. Dean isn’t happy about leaving the good olde u.s. of a, but he admits that probably no one will look north of the border. It doesn’t hurt that Sam has a newly built safe house waiting for them, one that admittedly he hadn’t anticipated needing for another dozen years at least. 

Dean whistles as he steps foot into the large circular house, eyeing the various sigils and traps. They’re mostly for show besides the enochian ones and it’s a good thing none of them can affect Dean. “Dude, who built this place? This is like a house of Bobby’s panic room.” 

Sam scratches the back of his neck, gives a nervous smile. “I did. I mean, I designed it and paid for it to be built.” 

There’s a blood ward- the real protection- spelled from the construction workers, their spirits already destroyed. It will only allow Dean and Sam to cross the property line, and apparently the magic doesn’t care about Dean being nonhuman. He hadn’t even thought of that until they got there, witchcraft could be finicky about the littlest things. 

Dean explores deeper into the house, running a hand over the white marble countertop. “How the hell did you pay for this? This is like a mini mansion.” 

Sam carefully bites his lip, hunches his shoulders. “I sold a few hex bags. Not the dangerous ones, flimsy good witch protection stuff.” 

Dean snorts, but his tone is amused not pissed. “Alright Bela, just don’t go out conning old ladies.” 

“Whatever,” Sam says, gives a relieved shrug. “I’m unpacking in our rooms.” 

Dean perks up at that, follows him upstairs. “Y’know this decor’s a little spartan Sam.”

Sam huffs, pointing to Dean’s room. “I hadn’t gotten around to decorating yet. I didn’t think we’d be here for years.” 

Dean slowly turns to him at that, reassessing. “What is this place? It isn’t just a safe house.” 

Sam blushes, opening his own room. “It was supposed to be a place for after hunting. If we got old.” 

“You built us a retirement home,” Dean says slowly. Sam nods, isn’t sure what to say. Dean punches his arm lightly, “Dude you are _such_ a giant girl.” 

Sam rolls his eyes, going into his room, “Whatever, I’m unpacking now.” 

Chuckling, Dean goes into his own room down the hall. It doesn’t take much time at all to put all his stuff away, he starts making a mental list of things to buy now that he isn’t living out of a car. He’s wondering if it’s too early to ask Dean about controlling his bloodlust, needs just the right amount of hunger and humanity so he doesn’t end up drained or with a pissed off older brother. It’d be easier if he knew how much of Lisa Dean drank, maybe he should just go to a hospital now and raid their blood supply. Or he could- 

Dean appears in his room then, shirtless and eyes bright, all predator. The adrenaline’s back, his blood pounding as he wonders what Dean will do. His eyes catch on the amulet, and he forces himself to mentally recount prime numbers. There’s a heavy pause, and then Dean slams him up against the wall before Sam’s brain has caught up with the movement, tripping over thirty-seven.

“Your heartbeat’s faster but you aren’t afraid,” Dean breathes against his neck. “You should be, the things I wanna do to you baby boy.” 

There’s no helping his arousal at Dean’s words and weight, he’s long lost his count. It hasn’t happened since they were kids, not noticeably, and Sam goes with that, channeling his fourteen year old self. “Shut up Dean.” 

Dean laughs ominously, his tongue darting out to lick over his erratic pulse. “You’d let me do anything.”

Sam takes in a shaky breath, “I trust you.”

Dean growls at that, teeth slamming into his neck. It feels like thousands of tiny knives being injected into him all at once, but pain’s nothing new and he’s had worse. New is the way Dean’s pushing his legs open, bringing their hips together, and through the thick denim, he can feel his brother’s dick. His head is dizzy with the sudden rush- or maybe blood loss- and his hands press down Dean’s bare back, pull him in closer. 

Dean’s just sucking on his neck now, extra teeth away and the pain dulled. He’s endlessly grinding into Sam, and it’s the most Sam’s felt since he came back. The possession and arousal make a dizzying mixture, and Dean finally comes off his neck, blood smeared across his lips. 

Sam kisses him before Dean can go anywhere, wet and messy, and he isn’t used to tasting blood without a rush of power. It’s a reminder how vulnerable he is here, his dick trembles at the thought.

“Kinky little bitch,” Dean says when Sam breaks away for air. “Bet you’d love it if I drank from you while fucking your ass.” 

Sam whimpers, straight out of an old fantasy, only a few details twisted. “Please. Fuck, I want you to.” 

Something snaps Dean back to near-normal at that, or perhaps from no longer being hungry. He shoves his forearm up against Sam’s throat, allowing him to breathe but only shallowly. 

“You’re not Sam.” 

“We already did this-”

“ _No_.” Dean interrupts harshly, his arm pressing harder. “You don’t smell like a normal human, you don’t react like a normal person. Sam would be afraid of me right now.” 

“I’ve,” Sam starts, the pressure worse when he talks, his head spinning, “been in love with you since I can remember.” 

Dean’s arm lightens at that, but his eyes narrow, his voice flat. “What.” 

Sam lets out a helpless little laugh, “I’m done pretending Dean, that’s what’s different. You wanna kill me? Fine. But I’m not leaving you.” 

“You left me alone for a year,” Dean spits out. 

Sam makes his eyes water, lets a tear drip down. “I saw your dream Dean. You and Lisa-”

“I’ve had that life Sam,” Dean says, deflated as his arm drops and he turns away. “I’ve lived near enough to the white-picket dream and without you it wasn’t worth it. I didn’t stay.”

“Dean, I-”

“I get it,” Dean interrupts again, turning back to him. “But it wasn’t your call to make.”

Sam bites his lip, “I know I’m-”

Dean flashes into his space, and somehow Sam had forgotten all about his erection until that moment, suddenly impossible to ignore, aching and hard in his jeans. 

“Kneel,” Dean says, and Sam obeys instantly, is too into it to care if the other him would have hesitated or pretended to. Dean’s thumb swipes over his lower lip, and his eyes glow. “You’re gonna make it up to me baby boy.” 

“Mhmm,” he agrees, and Dean’s thumb slips into his mouth. He laps at it, tastes the salt and faint echoes of blood. 

“Fuck,” Dean hisses, and Sam looks up, hollows his cheeks as he sucks on the digit. “You always been this easy for me Sammy?” Dean asks, but his thumb presses down on his tongue, won’t let him speak. Sam isn’t sure if it’s because Dean already knows or doesn’t want to know that Sam would have been his at any point, even back in his apartment at Stanford. Jessica sleeping in their bedroom and Dean straddling his face on the hardwood floor and he would have choked down his cock, been so damn grateful for it. 

He moans instead, brings his hands up to undo Dean’s belt. Dean bats his hands away, undoes it and his pants in a quick movement. Both crumple to the floor, and just like that Dean’s cock is an inch from his mouth. Sam gives himself a moment to take it in, licking his lips as he looks. He’s seen a lot of Dean over the years, including glimpses of his cock, but never erect or in high definition, and Sam kisses the head reverently. Its length is pretty average, but his cock is _thick_ and Sam wants to feel it stretching him open, slamming into him. 

Dean’s about to complain, he knows it, so Sam opens his mouth, sucks down the rest of him quick. His hands are flat on Dean’s hipbones, and he rocks forwards and backwards with little sucks and nibbles. 

“Holy fuck, you take a class on this at your fancy school?” Dean asks, a hand grabbing his hair. Sam moans as he accidentally tugs, and Dean grins at that, tugs for real, moving his head for him. Sam feels more toy than person, _feels_ the impact Dean has on him. His face is a mess, all tears and spit, and Sam just keeps swallowing and sucking as Dean fucks his face. 

He pulls out as he’s coming, half of the load on the tip of Sam’s tongue and the rest ends up all over his face. Sam likes it, the flip side of possession, his second not-entirely-physical feeling. He’s claimed and Dean yanks him up, a quick hand reaching into his jeans. He finds a soft cock and a mess of come, and Sam hadn’t even realized he orgasmed until that minute, had been so focused on Dean. 

Dean’s grin is all teeth, “You kinky little bitch.” And that’s the second time now, his stomach doing flips, and Sam is really okay if that’s his new nickname. He can imagine Dean yelling it across a parking lot, or murmuring it in his ear at a diner, and at this rate he’ll be up again before they even talk about it. 

Dean yawns suddenly, the drive and blood and sex all catching up with him at once. They fall into bed together, and Sam’s too surprised to say he isn’t tired. Dean curls around him, colder than usual but Sam doesn’t mind, pulling a blanket over them. 

“You know uh, vampires mate for life,” Dean says, faking nonchalant. 

Sam snickers, lacing their fingers together. “Oh no, you’ve ruined the casual sex with my brother plan.” 

Dean squeezes his fingers with a soft chuckle, and his breathing evens out as he falls asleep. They fit, everything was going to be good from now on. They’d work on Dean controlling his bloodlust and upping his speed, and then they could do whatever he wanted. They could retire or become Bobby’s eventual replacements or maybe go out hunting. That would take new spellwork to keep them hidden from the angels while mobile, but Sam has time. Maybe with enough time, it’ll even feel less like he’s acting as old versions of Sam and more like living as Sam. More importantly though, he has Dean now. 

And with a smile on his lips, Sam closes his eyes, sinks into a quasi-meditative state focusing on naught but Dean.


End file.
